


Worth the Fight

by Ivegotaheadlineforyou



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, semi-character death, who knows what that means but i'm going with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivegotaheadlineforyou/pseuds/Ivegotaheadlineforyou
Summary: “I can’t stop. Hermes, she’s on the train! W-why did no one say anything? Why did no one tell me?” “Oh, you poor boy. We did.”***Orpheus sees Eurydice on the train. But once you get to Hadestown, all bets are off.
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Worth the Fight

**Author's Note:**

> hahaha i'm back apparently?
> 
> Please enjoy
> 
> Hadestown belongs to Anaïs Mitchell, gods bless her soul.

_Tell me that it's not my fault_  
_Tell me that I'm all you want_  
_Even when I break your heart_

_-Taylor Swift, 'Afterglow'_

Ice was beginning to seep in. Beneath her nails, behind her eyes. She walked and wandered, looking for food and for her poet, day in and day out. She would bring him home with her, wrap herself around him to try and keep the two of them warm. But when she awoke, it was alone. The distance hurt but the silence was worse. It made the pain harder to endure. Her teeth felt on the verge of shattering, and the constant chill that ran through her spine always took her by surprise.

She hadn’t eaten in three days.

The little shack she had found for them had a hole in the roof, and no flooring. Sure there was no snow, but the permafrost was taking up permanent residence and there was no dispelling it. The wind whipped through the four walls, sounding more like a scream than anything else.

The wind screamed. The sky roared. She could barely whisper.

Orpheus was out. He was always out. There was something in his blood that kept him always just warm enough. Always just full enough. Some elixir from Olympus must have ran through his veins, she told herself, and pumped through his heart to keep him alive. To keep him singing. Eurydice in her darkest moments was angry that he wouldn’t share — she was angry that he wouldn’t split himself open to give her some of the golden life force. To give her some hope that she would make it through and be warm once more. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t even promise her warmth, these days. Couldn’t promise anything..

Someone else had though. In her pocket sat the coins — her way out of the cold and into… something. No one would give her a straight answer about what she would find down there. But she knew it was warmth. She knew it was work. And food and shelter, and _something_ better than frostbites. Something easier than hunger fatigue. 

Eurydice needed to get on her feet again. To keep moving. To find her poet and see if he could find food. to see if he could play in the town for tips. Anything to keep them alive through the epic storm that was engulfing them.

_I need to find Orpheus_ , she thought to herself, blinking away the stinging tears in her eyes. _I need to find my poet_. The trees all looked the same in this labyrinth of birch bark. White branches, white snow, the wind blowing it’s own white tears, white ashes, against her skin. She didn’t understand how the world that was once filled with so many colours could be bleached to neutrals so quickly. 

“Orpheus,” she called out, each syllable scratching her chapped lips on the way out. “Orpheus, _please.”_

_Don’t cry, my dear_ , she heard the wind in one ear, it’s tone venomous. _Your tears will only freeze in place._

_Little diamonds_ , she heard another voice. She almost felt it slither around her spine, making her gasp out her lovers name. It barely made any sound. _He promised you a ring made of diamonds and gold, didn’t he?_

_This is what you get,_ she heard. The voice came from afar. The voice was deep and looming and warm. _This is what happens when you lay plans in the palms of careless men._

She felt her knees give way. She felt the snow beneath her knees, and on her palms, and she felt the tears threaten to fall. He had promised her feasts, and soft bed. He had lured her in with lyres and lies and the promise of sweet music. 

And she still couldn’t give up on him.

Seconds became minutes. Minutes turned into hours, and as the sun began to set behind the mountain, and the sky turned to ash, she heard the crunching of boots. The squeaking of leather. The cataclysmic shift of his voice.

“Well? You coming?” 

_I blew things out of proportion, now you're blue_

_Put you in jail for something you didn't do_

_I pinned your hands behind your back, oh_

_Thought I had reason to attack, but no_

Orpheus took to walking the tracks. He had taken to pacing whilst playing, until his fingers became too numb. Then he would simply sing — would let the wind surround him and pull melodies from his lips and as he tried to find the words. Tried to find the right rhymes to patch together two people. 

He walked all day. He walked until his music brought him to Eurydice, and he held her in the night. But every morning he woke up, and at the sight of her, shivering in his arms, he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to see his wife starving and cold at his hand. There was only one thing that could save them. He knew in his heart that flowers wouldn’t regrow without music. That without the song, nothing would grow again. He knew he was close, too. Every step he took, the wind couldn’t touch him. Every note he played made the snow beneath his feel melt and give way to greenery. 

_Did you hear me? Orpheus?_ He heard his muse calling out to him. _Finish the song_ , she said, her voice sweet as honeysuckle, and her eyes sharp as brambleberry bushes. He wanted to do right by her. But as the sound of her teeth chattering began to act as his metronome, he couldn’t bear to lie next to her, too ashamed of what he had done.

He thought of Hades a lot. He thought of the way that man walked — of how he walked into the upperworld and could just take what he wanted. He took Persephone every year, Orpheus though, his wordless song flowing through his head, his feet taking him closer and closer to the entrance to Hadestown. He could see it in the distance.

He wondered if Persephone wore a crown. He wondered if the maiden in the garden, who blessed her marriage with soil and sunlight, wore the metals of the underworld around her head. He wondered where the crown would sit for the summer seasons. Did Hades look upon Persephone like Orpheus looked upon Eurydice? Did he see a heart beating so blindingly beautifully, that she scared him? Did Hades look at the crown of his wife — of his queen — and feel this sinking dread that she would never return? Did he mourn for her in the same way Orpheus saw Eurydice’s brass band and know he could never provide for her in the ways she deserved?

Orpheus sang to himself, of a king who built walls up to protect his heart, which he had given to the woman he loved. She held his heard so gently, that sometimes he couldn’t tell if she still had it with him. Orpheus knew that his heart was no longer just his own — it was with Eurydice.

But he needed to finish the song.

In the distance, he heard the train — could hear the whistle blowing and the scraping of metal against more metal, almost like the train didn’t like where it was heading. Orpheus stepped far away from the tracks. He was halfway between the station and the mountainous entrance to the underworld, when he saw it coming closer. He stopped his walking, to watch the train pass by. 

It was chance that he spotted her. It was by chance that they were on the same side of the train, that he could spot her hollow face, and limp hair. But he saw the fire in her eyes and a glimpse of their hearts intertwined within her eyes. He saw her jaw drop as she put both palms against the window.

Eurydice was on the train. 

“It’s you,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him. _It’s her_ , he thought, as he watched he speed past. The speed of the train sent snow careening towards him, but he couldn’t break eye contact. _Orpheus,_ he saw her mouth. She saw him too.

Her eyes look sunken, and her cheekbones sharp. But her brows were soft, her eyes afraid. This was the look that he avoided every morning — his own failure and her disappointment mingled together to create a horrific painting of a marriage in crisis. A world in crisis. 

And in a flash she was gone, the train speeding off towards it’s final destination under the ground. And Eurydice was on board. The same ice that had gnawed on Eurydice’s fingers, the same frost that took up residence on the tips of her ears, began to creep into Orpheus veins. Whatever kind of ichor once ran there was replaced with ice. Replaced with shattered glass that, with every pump of his heart, reminded him of how he had failed her. 

He screamed her name.

He began to run.

“Stop the train, dammit!” Eurydice was screaming with every ounce of energy she had left. Her reserves had been depleted over the harsh winter, so her fighting was not as demanding as she wanted it to seem. She wanted to pull a lever, wanted to stop the train in it’s tracks and jump out. He was there, he had seen her. After long days of avoiding her eyes, after weeks of her desperately dragging him home, he saw her. And he ran _to_ her, this time. 

“Hades, stop the train! I-I made a mistake you need to let me out!” She wasn’t looking at him — instead she was attempting to claw the door open. But she was tired and hungry and on uneven ground, and she could barely right herself, much less the situation.

“Hades, _help me_ ,” she screamed, as she collapsed to the floor, still trying to jam her fingers between the doors that refused to budge. “I still hav—” She was cut off by the screaming of the train whistle, before they were engulfed in darkness. 

In the seconds where no light could touch them, Eurydice fought against what she thought was death. She focused on the beating of her heart, however unsteady it was, and the knowledge that so long as hers kept beating, Orpheus’ would too. He was coming for her. And yet. The train’s whistle continued to scream. And the voices in her head found a natural harmony. _You ran from him_ , one said. _He was bringing back springtime for you_ , the other reminded her. She focused on her heartbeat, but it was drowned out by the third voice, whispering, _you’ve ruined everything and now you’ll pay the price._

The electric lights flickered on. They sounded like robotic cicadas, their incessant buzzing reminiscent of mild summer nights, but didn’t bring along the scented breeze that usually accompanied the sound. Eurydice blinked as the light washed over her.

“A-am I…?” she couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence. Could barely bring herself to speak the two words she did. Her voice was tired, her ears were ringing, and phantom sparks and sunbeams spotted her vision.

“Somewhat,” Hades said from his chair by the window. His voice rocked her almost as much as the train did. Eurydice crumpled, both hands against the door, as she let her forehead fall between her hands. “Dead enough to no longer be alive. But still, there’s too much life in you to stay in Hadestown. We’ll get your paperwork sorted.” He spoke the final words as if an afterthought. But it was like Eurydice had just been thrown a lifeline. Like she was drowning in choppy waters, but she caught one, single, glorious breath.

“So if I don’t sign the papers?”

Hades heard a sliver of hope in her voice, and it felt like a swift kick to the knees. Had his walls been any lower, if the walls that surrounded him had not been so strong, he would have crumpled. 

“If only it were that simple.”

*** 

“Orpheus! Orpheus, _stop._ ”

Hermes was calling after him. Whispers began in the village the moment the train pulled out of the station. Bystanders who weren’t aware of what they were seeing until it was already too late — until Eurydice had stepped across the threshold and into the liminal space. Until they could hear the poet’s lovely voice, as sweet as honeysuckle, fracture around the name of his paper thin wife. 

One told another who told another, a tale of lovers hanging on by a thread, separated by the railroad line and the rattlesnake that runs it. Slowly the voices got louder until one god picked up on the story.

“I can’t stop,” he said, trying to catch his breath as he walked. The railroad was miles long — it would take him days at this rate, and he didn’t know if he had that. He didn’t know how long it took the penny to reach the bottom of the well. He didn’t know if, once down there, they could ever find their way home again. But he had to try. “Hermes, she’s on the train! W-why did no one _say_ anything? Why did no one tell me?”

Hermes sighed, hesitation and disappointment on his breath. “Oh, you poor boy. _We did_.” Orpheus stopped in his tracks, his head high as he faced the long expanse of tracks ahead of him. 

“What do you mean, Mister Hermes?” Hermes sighed, could identify the tell tale signs of horror and sadness and grief for a woman not yet lost in his voice.

“We all heard her. We all saw. We watched as you tried to save her in all the wrong ways.” Hermes approached the poet, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You told her that you would save her. That you would bring back spring. And she trusted you until she couldn’t any longer.”

“I—” Orpheus’ shoulders shook, the ground below him now covered in snow. He could feel the moisture seeping in through the soles of his shoes. He could feel the cold setting in and he knew that this was what Eurydice had faced — this undefeatablecold, that sunk it’s teeth in like hell hounds, and fought until they could drag you home to their master. “She’s gone,” he finally admitted. 

“Well, not yet,” Hermes said. Orpheus whipped around at his words. He continued.

“Hades loves a contract. Won’t be set in stone until it’s written in blood. You’ve got time, but walking the track isn’t going to get you there in time.”

“There’s another way?” His eyes widened. _Please_ , he prayed, to whichever god was listening. To whichever god would dare to stand in Hades’ way. _Let there be another way_. 

Hermes’ shoulders dropped. His chin fell to his chest, and he sighed, knowing that there was no way he could keep this poor boy away. He had promised his mother, had promised the Muse that he would keep him safe and sound. But seeing Orpheus, broken hearted and scared for the life of his lover, he knew that the only way to save the boy was to show him the way. 

“Around the back.”

***

“I’m not signing anything,” Eurydice shouted, over the sound of clanking metal, or scraping shovels. Her skin shone slightly from sweat. After only minutes in Hadestown, the furnaces and the coal had made her wipe her brow. It was _hot_ down here. Hotter than she had expected.

“Don’t be stupid, girl.” Hades looked up at her, still standing on the platform, refusing to step down and follow him. 

“I’m not. Going. Anywhere,” she all but hissed through clenched teeth. The heat from the factory rose up in mirage like waves, distorting the distant. She felt like she was looking into rippling water, or into a watercolour painting. Eurydice could feel part of her, the small section in the back of her brain, tugging at her to follow. 

_He can’t find you here._

_You won’t be able to leave._

_He doesn’t want you anymore_.

“Fine,” He mumbled, taking his watch out of his pocket. She could hear the tick-tick-ticking of time as it passed by, even when he stashed the watch again. “I have business to tend to. Step into my office when you’re ready.” He turned his back on her and began to walk towards his mansion — the horrid thing of bricks and mortar that rose up above his kingdom. She wondered for a moment how much of the ground beneath the house had been watered with the blood of the workers.

“He’s coming for me,” she called after him. There was a wavering in her voice that she cursed. It couldn’t be chalked up to the cold. She couldn’t blame it on the way the wind rattled her voice box. It was fear, beginning to seep through her flesh and settle in her bones. “I-I know he is,” she continued, speaking to his back. 

She watched as his shoulders faltered — as they dropped ever so slightly before he straightened up. She saw the tattoos on his neck, the bricks, shift with his demeanour. “What is his name?” He asked, his voice subterranean, and frightening.

She gulped back the shivering as best she could and opened her mouth to speak. But instead of his name, the name of her poet that she had called out to so frequently, she could barely muster a sound. His name. What was his _name_?

She could see him perfectly when she closed her eyes. Her poet. With the voice like honey, and the hands soft as silk. She could see his floppy hair, his blue eyes. No — brown. They were brown.

_Grey,_ the voice in her head chimed in. _His name was Or-_

“Orpheus,” Eurydice gasped out. “His name is Orpheus, and he’s a poet and he-he plays the… the lyre, and he’s coming for me.”

Hades never turned around to face her. He knew what a sight she was. Her eyes, would be wide, her heart racing, hands shaking. He knew what it was like to have the voices in your head. He knew what it felt like when Clotho let go. When Lachesis dug her claws into the sides of your skull.

He knew what it felt like to have Atropos kiss your forehead, before snapping your neck.

“I’ll be in my office,” he said simply, before walking off.

***

Orpheus couldn’t help but stare when he first came to the wall. He had seen it from miles away, but the closer he got to the towering reminder that he was not welcome, the more his feet ached. The more his brain roared. She was here, he kept thinking to himself. She’s behind that wall. She had left their world above for the safety of the wall.

Part of Orpheus’ brain made him think that itwould simply fall over when he reached it. That it would simply step aside for him, make way for the lover to find his wife. That, when he laid his hand against the hard stone, it would crumble like salt. The bricks were made of stone and mud, anyway, and nature believed in the truth of love, didn’t it?

…Didn’t it?

_These bricks are of Hades itself_ , a voice whispered inside his head. _They are his domain and he is not as easily fooled_.

“Who’s there?” Orpheus said, whipping around to find the voice. His shaking hand came to rest upon the guitar strap that laid across his chest. His music was dearer now than it ever had been. He wanted to hold it close. “Who are you?”

_The question, young Poet, is who are you?_

His teeth chattered, his heart pounded in his ears. The soft, sweet whisperers sounded like sirens. He knew that the more they spoke, the more his head ached, the more his heart was set to burst, but he couldn’t help but listen. They scared him. They excited him. Orpheus couldn’t tell who they were, but he wondered if Eurydice could hear them too.

“I-I’m Orpheus,” He said, his voice echoing, bouncing off the bricks. There was no whisper right away. Only a halfhearted chuckle. 

_Who do you think you are?_ He felt a tingle shoot up his spine. He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find his breath. _Where are you going, Poet?_ The voice asked again, her venom beginning to fill his brain.

“I-I need to find her,” he said, reaching out to brace himself on the wall. Orpheus squeezed his eyes shut — the pounding in his head too much to handle. “I need to find my wife.”

_What makes you think she wants to be found, hmm? Who do you think you are?_

“You’re not real,” Orpheus whispered, more to himself, than to anyone else. He wanted the wind to pick up, like it had earlier on his journey underground. He wanted the rushing waters of the river to drown out the voices that egged him on, that encouraged the part of his brain he didn’t recognise. That wanted him to turn around. 

“I need to find her,” he whispered to himself, trying to drown out the voices with his own. He wished Eurydice was with him. He wished he had listened to her, wished he would have heard her cry for help and her chattering teeth. 

_No one has ever reached the underworld alive,_ the deepest voice echoed inside his head. The voice was loud, demanding. It rattled around in his mind, drowning out his own voice. He gripped the wall tighter as his knees began to buckle. He felt like his guitar, the strings being slowly tightened too much. Any moment, he would snap under the pressure. 

His mind started blinking in and out, memories resurfacing like sunspots in his mind. Mingled amongst the horrific pain of the voices in his head, he remembered how soft her hair was. While the voices of the underworld slowly dug their way into his brain, he remembered her, tangled in a blanket under the tree by the edge of town, his front against her back. His heart was racing, gasping for breath as his vision clouded over. He remembered his hands against her heart, feeling her body calm at the sound of his voice.

_La, la la la la la,_ he whispered to himself. As the hushed, barely there notes of the song of spring returning, Orpheus felt the voices hesitate. The louder he sang, the more his hands shook. It felt as though the bricks were shifting, and the voices retreating. 

Hermes had told him, warned him, that his blood would not save him in this place. That whatever magic ran through him? That same magic was in every stone in the underworld. Hermes had taken Orpheus head in his hands, pleading with the boy to listen to him when he said that the voices of the Underworld would suck out his life force and replace it with distilled fear and doubt. Orpheus tried to remember, tried to push past. In the moment before his knees buckled, his heart sang his song one last time, hoping that Eurydice would be able to hear it.

And the wall opened up and the poet tumbled into the underworld.

***

_What are you still doing here?_

_“_ I’m waiting.”

_Who do you think is coming for you?_

“I…I don’t know…”

_Why haven’t they come yet?_

“I—“

The Girl’s chin was on her knees, curled in the corner of the station platform. She was sweating, but she couldn’t get warm. Her last memories were of feeling cold. She remembered a shadow of arms around her, holding her tightly. She couldn’t remember that now, though. She couldn’t remember anything.

The Girl had arrived in Hadestown with a name. With a desire. With the need to stand her ground and wait. And as Hades drafted up her contract, she stood stoic on the platform, as the Fates slowly picked at her memory like they were mining for coal. 

First went the names, then the images. Then the motivations. She knew she was sitting there for a reason — The Girl knew that the King was waiting. But sat she stood, as the Fates took form in front of her. Their long sweeping dresses got too close to her. The birdcage veils they wore made her think they were in constant mourning. And yet the grins on their face made The Girl think that this was bringing them some form of joy. 

“Someone is coming. I know they are,” she whimpered. She was grateful she knew how to speak — knew how to think. The Fates had played with her mind since she stepped foot off the train. The Girl ached to work. She wanted to build. The noises in the distance, the symphony of pick axes, made her stand.

On shaky knees, with any memories of the past fading away, she began to step forward.

_Hades lets you work here._

_There is purpose in the mines._

_Here there is everlasting li—_

“Come home with me?”

The Girl turned her head, her eyes widening the more she took in. She thought she had come face to face with a mirage. The man in front of her seemed like he was fresh out of a dream, out of a memory she didn’t recall making.

But that voice… Those eyes. Hearing him say those words made her heart want to bloom, wanted to replace the blood in her veins that kept her hear pumping with flower petals — soft, gentle under her skin. The voice made her want to burn the winter coat she didn’t remember wearing.

“It’s… It’s _you_ ,” The Girl said, awe in her voice, the taste of remembrance in her throat.

“It’s me,” He said, climbing onto the platform. There were cuts on his cheeks, brick dust in his hair. His jeans were ripped, and his shoes were worn. He wore a guitar on his back, and like a flash she remembered the guitar on her floor. 

She remembered gentle hands plucking taut strings. Remembered those fingers placing magic flowers in her hair.

She remembered a voice whispering her name in her ear.

She could remember whispering his back.

“O-orpheus?” she said, the world on her lips sounded strange to her mind, but her body knew him. It knew to reach out, how to hold him to her as he ran, wrapping his arms around her slight waist and lifting her.

“Eurydice,” he all but sang into her hair, and she felt her body soften. She felt her mind let go of all tension. Her memories came flooding back, and with them came tears.

She felt like the Fates weren’t stealing her memories — only pulling them out of sight. Kept behind a curtain; a dam. But as soon as she heard her name. As soon as he had spoken her name back to her, everything came back.

The feeling of rough kisses mingling with giggles.

Soft touches around a bonfire.

Biting winds and frozen hands.

The look of pain in his eyes when he saw her from the train.

“You came,” Eurydice — her name was Eurydice and his name was Orpheus and he was real and he was here — said, cupping his cheeks, and holding him steady so she could look at him.

“I-I saw you on the train. Hermes told me you called for me and I—“ he broke off, his voice — his beautiful voice — began to waver. He shook his head and took a deep breath, leaning to rest his forehead against Eurydice’s. “I can’t finish the song without you. The world isn’t worth righting if you’re not there, my love.”

“Orpheus, what do you mean?” She looked deep into his eyes, desperate for action. For some concrete plan. 

“I’ve come to take you home again,” he said, in a voice that was strong. She felt it deep in her chest. When Hades spoke, it shook the earth, exploiting its fault lines and making it apologise for its cracks. When Orpheus spoke in this tone, it healed the fault lines, penetrating into the earth to bind it back together. 

The Fates circled them, trying to pry them apart. Atropos’ hand twitched towards her scissors, while Clotho darted off to find the boss man. He would know what to do. The King of the Mine would know how to twist the minds in his domain.

But the Lovers held strong. Eurydice had waited, and Orpheus had come running after her. They brought each other up each time, no matter how strong the waves that tore them apart were. 

And the waves had done their damage. The doubt in the back of their minds was still there, still doing whatever tricks it could to down them. But they held fast. With Orpheus hands on her waist, and Eurydice’s hands on his face, she didn’t care if she had to tear up contracts and throw them in the face of one of the Mighty Olympians. He didn’t care if he had to join her in the underworld, and face whatever it held in store.

They were stronger together. And despite the gaps between them that were determined to pull them apart, they still stood hand in hand. Stronger than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! It feels good to write canon again!  
> I'm on a tumblr hiatus, so idk how to get any prompts but lmk what you want to see!


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